Sunday, December 26, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Sometimes, this can be more interesting than others. Dockets, for example, are not much fun at all. Criminal charges beign dropped for the mere fact the accused did not recieve his phone call fast enough; always interesting, if not disheartening. This Tuesday's field trip however takes the cake.
We were sitting in the courtroom waiting for the judge to return. There were two prosecutors and two defense lawyers negotiating and scheduling trials and sentence requests from the counsel desks. Because we are in a courtroom and everything is miked, everyone can hear what they are saying.
It was actually very interesting, and very educational to listen to them discuss and come to agreements. You know how lawyers are on TV? Well, they're not really like that. They're friendlier, and while they haggle over how long one accused needs to spend in prison and whether or not another's trial date can be postponed, they were quite agreeable. Then they got down to the real issue.
While checking their schedules and seeing when they can set aside a time to discuss these matters in detail, one defense attorney declares that evening will not work because she wants to watch Glee. The crown scoffs at this and replies:
"Glee? I don't like that show. I prefer Gossip Girl."
They then launch into a heated discussion of which is better and why; haggling in the same manner that they did over their cases. When another defense lawyer jumps in with the claim that he doesn't like "that Glee show" either and Gossip Girl is much better in his opinion, his fellow defense attorney questions his taste in song. Seriously; she sang. This continues until the Clerk of the Court shouts "All rise!" and the judge re-enters the room. The clerk informs everyone present that what is being said will now be recorded, and I try not to laugh as I envision what would have happened if the judge got to look over the previous conversation in transcripts.
I learn the most interesting things at the court house. Who knew lawyers could be so multi-faceted?
Thursday, December 2, 2010
- my grade 11 student ID; always worth commemorating.
- paint chips from that one time I considered repainting my dresser, took every colour from Home Depot, and then changed my mind.
- three bottles of wedding bubbles.
- buttons to articles of clothing I do not remember owning, or outgrew five years ago.
- a sizable collection of expired coupons. Seriously, why did I think that was good place to hang onto them?
- flashcards from my Science 30 diploma exam.
- half a drawers worth of dead pens.
- an invite to a friend's 17th birthday party. We are now both 22.
- my 30 Hour Famine pledge form from grade 11. So that's where it was . . .
- every college brochure I ever received in high school, and yes, that is a sizable number.
- my wisdom teeth. I kid you not. My dad was quite proud of how intact they were when he took them out, so he put them in a cute little container and asked if I wanted to take them home. I'm still wondering if that was a good idea, or just weird.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Last weekend, my family drove up to Edmonton for my cousin's wedding. Mom of course was in charge of flowers, so she and Dad headed up Friday morning while my sister, my brother, and my soon-to-be-brother-in-law left after we finished our respective classes. Because all three vehicles in our family had broken down in one day, we got to take Janine's car at the last minute.
Wedding was lovely, and seeing family was fabulous, but I'm sure you already knew that part. Fast forward to Sunday evening, when, after a weekend of catching up with cousins and aunts, admiring how beautiful Lindsay looked and chasing after nephews, I am at home again getting ready for another Monday. I feel uneasy about Mondays more than your average person because on Mondays I leave my house just after 7 and return around 9:30 or 10 at night. The idea of packing all three meals of the day has never been too appealing. Furthermore, after a weekend away, I know I am going to hit my snooze button as many times as I can get away with, so I prepare everything the night before.
Among my preparations was the task of finding my keys. When leaving on Friday, my keys had been placed in the purse I was taking before I learned we were taking Janine's car, so I was certain it would be an easy search.
Fifteen minutes later, every bag and coat I had taken to Edmonton had been scoured and still I had no keys. I decided that they must be in Neen's car, which Petey had taken out (long story, not that interesting). Of course, by the time he got home I was so tired I didn't even think about my keys. Janine went home, and I woke up Monday morning keyless.
I borrowed my dad's and stopped at Neen's house on the way to school, as my wallet was also likely still in the back seat. That is just how awesome I am. However, the keys were not there, and I went about my morning wondering where they could have disappeared to.
In the end, I decided I must have left them at our hotel in Edmonton. I called, and they told me no keys had turned up, but they would call me if they found them. I left it at that for a moment and went Christmas shopping.
I was walking back to my car when I started rooting around in my bag out of habit looking for my keys, even though I should have known the single key I had taken off my dad's keychain was in my back pocket. Lo and behold, the search I did without even thinking yeilded my keys, which had never been taken to Edmonton in the first place.
After a morning fruitless searching, chasing after my sister at 8 am, and coming up with worst case scenarios, you would expect me to jump for joy; instead my thought process went like this:
"No, no, not these keys. I need the single key I borrowed from Dad to open the door, as my keys are lost. Wait a minute . . ."
Have I ever told you how brilliant I am?
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Sunday, October 3, 2010
My mother is very good at accommodating her three children who are in school, saving money, and on tight budgets. She is also good at making people's lives simpler, especially when it comes to her own birthday.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Since starting paralegal school, that is what I have missed the most. The bulk of my marks come from quizzes, exams, and projects where I practice drafting legal documents for cartoon characters. While creating Mickey Mouse's last will and testament and divorcing Ken and Barbie is almost as fun as walking though the art history aisle at the Mount Royal library, I still felt like I was missing something. I love writing essays. I love putting together powerpoints and teachings my classes why Van Gogh was so fascinated with Millet's The Sower. This is of course essential knowledge I like to share with anyone who mentions impressionism or 19th century painting while I am in ear shot.
You can imagine my delight this past Monday when I walked into my first day of Criminal Law. What was that I saw on my outline? An ESSAY?! Life is beautiful.
Wait, what's the subject again? Serial killers? Oh. I think I prefer Van Gogh.
My assignment was to choose a convicted serial killer, write a profile and present it to my class on Friday. I decided this assignment would be manageable if I chose a killer who fit the following criteria:
1. Their biography did not make me want to vomit.
2. I could complete my research without losing my faith in humanity or feeling jaded.
3. I didn't feel like crying when learning about their victims.
4. I could leave class without checking over my shoulder every three minutes on the journey home.
5. I didn't get the creeps reading about them.
After looking up several killers, I came to the realization that no multiple murderer is going to pass this criteria, so I looked for a non-body mutilator and chose the Ken and Barbie Killers. With normal research, I would discuss my subject, but believe me, if you don't know, you don't want to.
On Monday night, I went to a bonfire in a city park for my church group. Here is some advice: when you have been researching kidnappers, rapists, and murderers all day, it is not a good idea to go walking through a park after the sun has gone down. In fact, it is probably best to not walk anywhere. Sensing that I was jumpy, a friend of mine pulled out his pocket knife and spent a part of his evening teaching me self-defense. Another insisted on walking me to my car. To think I thought I was consumed by my research before.
The rest of the week followed a pattern of me grumpily doing research, jumping at any sudden movements, and completing my project with a new appreciation for my parents, my friends, and generally the fact that I am alive, happy, and incredibly sheltered. Today I presented my findings to the class, and got into the swing of showing off my not-so-eagerly-acquired knowledge. Now I am celebrating the end of the project and the discovery that I never want to work in criminal law. I think I prefer taxes.
Tonight, I think I'll go home and watch Disney movies.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
A month ago, my manager informed me she wanted to train me for a position that is slightly higher in the ranks than the one I currently possess. I was deemed qualified for this position not because of my awesome work ethic and drive, but because at the time I was the only employee who was not quitting.
Training for said position at work while being in school has proven stressful. I wondered why I was doing this to myself; until yesterday, when I started to see the perks. I was informed when I arrived at work that with the new staff that has come in, among other things, we would be shuffling arround offices. I was informed that I would be moving from my office in the tiny far corner to another, which is better for the following reasons:
1. It is a tiny bit bigger.
2. I do not have to walk through someone else's office to get there.
3. It is closer to pretty much everything.
4. The master radio is in it.
5. The back door is in it, so I can have an escape route.
6. The walls surrounding it are not the walls to someone else's office; so I can hang the sign designating it as my office somewhere other than right over my desk.
And the best reason of all:
7. There is a window.
It is a small window, the glass is frosted, and it looks into the back alley, but it lets in natural light. I was so excited I showed it off to all my clients yesterday. Yes, it is not that monumental a change from my old office, but is the only one that lets in sunlight.
I will try to control my excitement around my co-workers.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
In our third meeting of the the three hour church block, they asked for volunteers to go out on Monday night and hang banners off of bridges over the freeway. I thought to myself:
"I have never hung anything off of a bridge before. It can be one those stupid bucket list goals that you say you've done but never aspired to do in the first place, like sing primary songs while riding a scooter up a mountain or signing a petition."
So I raised my hand.
The five of us who went agreed that we should meet the following night at 5:30, hang our four signs, and then go to our church potluck at 7.
At 6:45, we were still fastening the first sign. Any hopes we may have had of going to said potluck were gone. I'm sure you can all imagine my devastation and disappointment.
All in all, it took us four hours from initial meet-up time to when I got home instead of our planned hour and a half. We are very grateful we decided to go at 5:30, as opposed to our other option of beginning at 8:30.
Here are some other things I learned about hanging banners, in case you were wondering:
1. When one of your bridges is in the vicinity of a stadium that is hosting the Battle of Alberta (Stamps vs. Eskimos), it is advisable to get there before all the crazy football fans are swarming the area and celebrating as they leave the game.
2. If possible, choose bridges that have other signs already fastened to them. That way when you have five novice sign-hangers, you can look over at the other banners every thirty seconds and copy what they do even if you don't have nearly as many cool tools.
3. It is advisable to not waste all the screws you are given on the first sign, even if it is the most obnoxious bridge you have ever seen and has a grate over the rails. Doing so will require a side trip to Canadian Tire.
4. Zip ties are the greatest invention imaginable for securing the bottom and can reduce the time to put up a sign from 45 to 20 minutes. That, and experience.
5. When putting up a sign to advertise for your event, you can gain free advertising by waving at passersby. They will usually honk back their appreciation (especially if their team has just beat the province's capital), and the whole process becomes quite enjoyable until one driver decides to show his appreciation by showing off his middle finger to the food bank.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
I had my reservations about switching banks, and I confess one part of the plan I was not looking forward to was going into my old bank and announcing that I was abandoning them. I was convinced they were either going to give me the stink eye and demand to know all my reasons, or look so wounded I'd take pity on the poor teller and keep the empty account there just to appease them.
You can imagine my delight and relief then, when my new financial rep said he'd take care of it for me. I now felt confident in my decision; knowing I didn't have to face the wrath/ broken hearts of my previous bank. Sadly, this was not to be. It seems whenever you have a ridiculous fear of something, you must be forced to face it. After a week of living in blissful misunderstanding, I spoke to my financial rep again and he explained (as he probably had before knowing my luck) that he could shut down my old acount, but it would take him six weeks, so it would be easier if I just went over there myself to shut it down and bring over the balance in a deposit.
With trepidation, I went to the bank Monday afternoon; only to realize I had left my debit card at home. How convenient.
Again on Tuesday, I entered my old bank prepared for whatever they threw at me. While standing in line, a smiling woman with a bank nametag came up to me and began asking me how my day was going. Guiltily, I told her it was just fine. She asked me if I was interested in doing better at saving money. I thought of the most honest answer to that question, which would have gone something like this:
"Yes, as a matter of fact I would. The people at your competitors have done a fantastic job of setting that up for me."
Instead, I think I said something like "Why not?"
She then launches into this pretty little speech about how Canadians don't know how to save, recites some interesting stats, and then encourages me to talk to my financial rep about that. I nod and say I will do just that. Then she gives me a pen for being so agreeable. It is in the bank's colours and says:
"Let the savings begin."
At the counter, the girl's only response to my request to shut my account is "Oh." She even smiles as she hands over the balance of my account, and I escape with no accusing glares, no demands as to why they are not a sufficient bank, and no woebegone expressions.
Instead I get a free pen.
Monday, August 16, 2010
b) We are all staring into the bright sunlight.
c) Keeping seven children attentive and happy looking for multiple pictures is no one's idea of fun.
d) Keeping eleven adults happy and celestial-looking is an equal challenge.
Nevertheless, we persevered with Mom's plan. Here are a few of our attempts:
I think this is the perfect candidate to go up in my dad's office when he wants to show off his darling children. I know I will be showing it off to my clients.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
"Orphans Not as Malnourished as Novel Characters: Dickens' Oliver Twist Was Well Fed!"
The story then goes on to describe how a recent study shows that the gruel eaten by Oliver Twist and Nicolas Nickleby was in fact very satisfying. The writer, bless their heart, tells the story with the style I would use being the sole discoverer of a government consiracy. Imagine the scandal of someone exaggerating in fiction!
I kept the article not only because it makes me laugh, but because I find it to be a great motivational tool. While I no longer wish to be a journalist, I am happy to be reminded everyday as I walk out my door that slow news days (or their equivalents) happen to everyone.
As a journalist, and now just as a regular human being, I have definite opinions about the news and it's reporting. One of my biggest beefs is when people tell me they don't listen to the news because it's depressing, or they can't listen to the radio because they just talk about traffic jams. What do people think the news is going to talk about?
"This morning, a man drove down Deerfoot Trail on his way to work and made it there on time."
"Last night, a woman walked home and made it there safely."
That's not NEWS. News is when something unexpected happens that is out of the ordinary.
I raised this opinion with plenty of my journalism classmates and teachers, and they all agreed. However, this does not seem to the opinion of the Calgary media. This morning on my drive to school, I heard the following "news" on two separate radio stations.
Why is it news that someone was not injured by flying debris? Okay yes, it's an unsafe construction site, but they're leading with the story of a non-injury. People get scratches on their cars all the time. The lane of traffic that should have been closed strikes me as an interesting fact, but really Calgary? Scratched cars are not news.
I thought you were better than that.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Examples of this phenomen can be found in the Redd family's use of terms such as "boobishay" (to borrow your sister's sweater and take it as your own) and "in the chips;" which is used whenever someone starts buying rather than renting or eating butter instead of margarine. Recently, we also see how this works with the younger Redd's habit of exclaiming, "Quite literally" after everything that happens and then bursting into peals of laughter. This blog is the story of yet another cheesy family saying coming into being.
A few weeks ago, my family went on holidays together in Osoyoos. When your immediate family consists of two parents, five kids, three in-laws, seven grandchildren and two more on the way, this is a major accomplishment. Not only did we all manage to be in the same place at the same time, we all crammed into one house.
Thankfully, for everyone's sanity, there was no actual night where we were all sleeping in said house. There were only four bedrooms, and the owners didn't want tents pitched in their backyard. So the afternoon that Janine and I arrived for a four-day weekend, my sister Emily and her husband Shaun conveniently decided to head home.
In actuality, the Redd clan was congregated in our entirety for only two hours, but those two alone were enough to accomplish what nearly every family gathering needs.
We were sitting around on the lawn after just watching the ibbi hack a pinata to pieces, and Katey was making balloon animals and weapons for all the kids. Someone said something that reminded me of a certain commercial I happen to find hilarious, and without thinking, I said out loud:
"I'm on a horse."
To everyone in my family who has seen this Old Spice Commercial (which would be most of them), my spontaneous line was a perfect invitation to begin quoting every line they have ever heard from the Old Spice advertisers. The favourite soon became a quote from the ad I had not yet seen, but which I was dying to watch after seeing my seven months pregneant sister try to imitate the ad in her lawn chair. Here's our money quote:
"Do you want your man to smell like her can bake you a gourmet cake in your dream kitchen which he built with his own hands? Of course you do. SWAN DIVE!"
A short while later, a few of us decided to go in the lake. The house we rented had a dock from the beach for tying up boats or leaping into the water. When you have the Old Spice Man stuck in your head, a large-ish body of water and a way to jump into it in a dramatic fashion, what do you think you will do? That's right. Soon, swan dives were the only cool way to enter the water. Canon balls seemed very passe.
The joke continued for the duration of the holiday. Quoting that one commercial became just what we did while we were in the water. This continued in excess until my sister Jaima told us that Old Spice is in fact, a disgusting old man product. We shut up about swan dives for a grand total of five hours.
Or second favourite. I am a fan of the albatross.
We are now all sick of white birds, imaginary gourmet cakes, and old man body wash. However, I am waiting for the day when Blake, Ben and Isaac (now ages 4 and 5) leap off the dock screaming "SWAN DIVE!"
When they're heads pop up from the surface, Isaac will turn to Ben and ask why they say that. Ben will shrug and say it's just what they've always done and said at family reunions.
Because that's just how cheesy family slogans work.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Doing service is great because with the accumulation of friends, the wheel can turn back on you. Case and point:
You are walking home from the train station on your way back from school; on your way to work. As you walk to your car you start digging around in your purse and realize your keys are not there. Nervously you approach your car, wondering if they're in there but secretly hoping they are in your backpack even though you never put them there.
Yep, you guessed it; they're in the car. You can even see your lanyard hanging out the driver's door where you probably dropped them when you got out. So you call home, and see if anyone can come to your rescue with a spare key. You call your mother's cell and your sister's cell. No answer.
You phone your father's work and speak to his receptionist; with whom you used to work - and ask if you dad drove to work today. He biked, and the office is crazy busy. Not wanting to be a bother, you say you'll figure it out.
Two minutes later she calls back and asks if you're okay. You explain and she tries to figure out a way to rescue you until your cell phone dies. You are at your church, where you park everyday and save three dollars. It just so happens that as your cell phone dies, a friend from church walks out to his car and sees you there. He asks if you're okay. Once the situation is explained to him, he offers to drive you to your dad's work to see if he has a key. He even offers to drive you back if you find one.
Your dad has no key, so you thank your friend and send him on his way. He is, after all, on the way to the jewellery store with his fiancee. You call home again and reach your sister; who's having a sick day. She grabs a key and says she'll come get you, but calls back a few minutes later to say she doesn't have a car.
Well, that's it. You've dried up all possible resources for rescue on a Monday afternoon. You call a taxi and let your work know you will be late. You are not looking forward to paying cab fare.
Your plan is to have the cab take you home, grab a key, and drive to your car. You call home to ask your sister to have a key ready. Who should answer but your mother! She just walked in the door and immediately goes out to the car to come rescue you and save you cab fare. As she drives you back to your car, she thanks you for giving her a service opportunity.
You see? By doing service and acquiring friends you can, in turn, help your friends give service back. I helped so many people be charitable yesterday. I should be so proud of myself.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
While I doubt this will ever be a problem I will face, the idea was intriguing nonetheless. So intriguing, that one day, when I finished my assigned letter early, I did an extra practice and sent it to Janine. Now I have decided to share it with you, and hopefully you can learn a little something about the Roadkill Burger too.
June 2, 2010
123 Notmytype Way
Dear Mr. Bertram:
Thank you for your kind offer. I admire your boldness and the way in which you express yourself; you most certainly have a way with words. I understand your desire for matrimony. It truly is a very desireable goal, and I admire your meticulous search for high quality.
As part of my personal values, I have taken on very high standards in the kind of men I review as marital candidates. In 2002 I made an official list of these qualifications that has become a standard of quality I continually strive towards. While this list is not available for public consumption, its standards are expected to be present in successful applicants' demeanor without their knowledge. Universal female policy dictates that I do not lower these predetermined standards beyond the phrase "close enough" as this could compromise my own state of happiness.
Your application has been given serious consideration, and I am again flattered by your proposal. However, your application has fallen short of the strict "close enough" policy. Should you still be in pursuit of a wife in the near area, I can offer you suggestions of women who may more fully suit your criteria. Please let me know if you would be interested; I would be more than happy to recommend a different candidate.
I appreciate your interest in me. If you would like to maintain our current relationship, I would be happy to remain pen pals.
NOTE: If you're wondering about the reasoning behind the name choice of my rejected paramour, click here.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
A couple weeks ago, I came across a discussion board arguing how terrible fantasy fiction is. The initial post went on a tirade about how fantasy is dead because everything has been done before. The several posts that followed vehemently argued either side of the discussion. Some agreed that we have seen far too many stories where a lowly farm boy goes on an adventure to save the world, where a mythical object can destroy or save the world, or where an ordinary child gets sent to a magical school.
Others argued that several writers have been able to revive certain ideas in fantasy with new twists. Case and point: Stephenie Meyer. Whether or not you are a Twihard, she revived vampire fiction, made it cool again, and opened up the market to be saturated so we could all get sick of pale-faced, bloodsucking creatures of the night all over again. People making these arguments also suggested that those opposed to fantasy could simply read something else. This was the best and most rational comment I have ever read on the Water Cooler.
As a writer of fantasy, I was a little concerned about this issue. Am I heading into an industry that is just beating a dead horse? The more I think about it though, the more convinced I become that fantasy is still alive and kicking. Here is my thesis:
I read somewhere that there is nothing new in fiction except talent. We've all seen it before. Most authors follow traditional plot formulas and add new tricks like sparkly vampires or a new take on what happened to Elvis. For me, the experience of reading was never about finding something brand spanking new, it was about being entertained and escaping reality for a few hours.
As a kid, I knocked on the back of wardrobes and suffered severe disappointment on my eleventh birthday when no one invited me to Hogwarts (or the Candian equivalent). These things happened not because I waqs so enamoured with CS Lewis and JK Rowling (especially Rowling), but because both had created a world I wanted to explore, I kept reading. I will never grow tired of fantasy because there will always be new talent out there writing a different world, and whether or not they put in a love triangle, turn their protagonist into a twit or kill off my favourite character, I am always going to be finding things I love in those repeated fantasy cliches.
So let me pose a question: is fantasy dead? More importantly, why do you read fiction? What does it hold for you? Why do you repeatedly pick up stories when you can guess how it will end?
For writer's wanting to see what Absolute Write is all about, click here.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Unfortunately that concept registered in my brain but not in my actions. Late last week I was sent by e-mail a series of documents to read over and fill out before I started training on Monday. This was especially relevent as my new employer is allowing me to miss morning training for school. Naturally I forgot about these documents until Sunday evening, at which point I discovered something very interesting; my printer wasn't working.
This is a dilemma. While my printer is, at it's best, sporadic in dependability, it usually likes at least one of the laptops in my house and I can print off someone else's computer. On Sunday the printer was angry at everybody. Not knowing what else to do, I decided I would print off said documents at school the next morning.
7:55 Monday morning - I arrive at school and try to print the first document, only to discover that the network is down. In an act of desperation, I called my dad's receptionist and asked her to print them off for me. She's happy to help, but this means I now have to take the train to the northwest, drive to my dad's office, pick up paperwork, and then drive to South Calgary to the center where I am being trained. This becomes even more delightful on the drive home as I'm hitting rush hour traffice the entire trip; hence the desire to take the train in the first place. Think of all that reading time I missed out on.
In actuality, I sang along with my iPod the entire trek home and arrived there with a sore throat. Also, I was the only person who arrived with their paperwork done; most people were just glancing through theirs when I got there. Some are handing it in today and no one cares.
Let this be a lesson to me: procrastination is stressful, causes unnecessary side trips, and is all around bad. But it does make me look like a fabulous teacher's pet.
Monday, May 31, 2010
This morning, while listening to the radio, I learned of two men who stole a city bus to go joy riding for half an hour while the bus driver stopped for a break. While I do not see the thrill of driving around a giant vehicle that scares me out of my wits every time it attempts to make a turn, this duo had a grand old time driving around, damaging the bus and three others cars as captured by the bus's video security system.
The thieves decided their joy ride would be an excellent time to discuss their places of residence, and give detail as to where they live.
After the police go knocking on their door, I am going to suggest they move to Paris.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
- five paintings were stolen: a Picasso, a Modigliani, a Matisse, a Braque, and a Leger. Some writer's see this as a trajedy because the Braque and Picasso in particular were considered masterpieces of the 20th century. Most people I have shared this story with however, shrug it off and say they don't like modern art.
- the collective value of the works taken amounts to about $123 million (US).
- it's suspected this was an inside job.
Now here's the kicker:
- the paintings are supposed to have been taken by a single thief. This person appears to be quite clever, and didn't even pull of the job in Danny Ocean style. The thief snapped a single padlock, smashed a window, and then went in to help themselves; having time to carefully remove the paintings from the frames without slicing. Miraculously, the thief also managed to escape all three security guards, who didn't notice anything until they looked at security tapes in retrospect.
- four years ago, 15 million Euros were spent to update the museum's security system. This top of the line burglar alarm has been broken for two months.
- this morning I also learned that Paris officials admitted that none of the paintings were insured because "their huge value meant no one would take the risk of stealing them."
Science, I would now like my time machine. My first stop as vigilante will be to find the idiots who made the decisions leading to this.
Then I think I would go meet this art thief, although I'm undecided as to whether this person deserves a whack on the head, or a cupcake for making everyone else look stupid.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Naturally I was very excited at the prospect of some non-profit group sending me stickers AND a husband, though I was a trifle concerned they'd paired me with a distant cousin.
I looked around, but he seemed to have gotten lost in the mail. Gosh darn, I knew that was far too simple. Silly non-profit group can't get anything right.
I decided to keep the stickers; they're a really pretty set, and I can just take a sharpie to remove the "Mrs" and field off awkward questions. Although I can't help wonder if there is an ulterior motive to this mail. I attend a church congregation made up entirely of people in their twenties, it's designed to encourage us to date and get married in the church. Perhaps this is my bishop's way of telling me to get a move on. Or maybe some loving older relative is trying to send the same hint.
No, all joking aside, I am pretty sure the non-profit group is working alone in this plot. Still, I can't help laughing every time I look at them.
Has anyone else ever received such a loaded present in the mail?
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
"This is the end.
My only friend, the end."
And that is all the lyrics I know, so it's frustrating as well as depressing. In case you are wondering why I am so morose over a seemingly normal Thursday, here is the answer:
Today is my last day of university classes.
No, I am not graduating, and no I am not dropping out because I found a sugar daddy. Actually I am pretty sure I have yet to blog anything about this, so here is the beginning of the story.
In November I realized something about myself; I did not want to be a journalist. As much as I love to write and as much of a buzz I get from conducting a really good interview, I am all for balance in my life, and I realized that if I was ever going to get to do what I wanted in journalism, I would have to make it my whole life, and I didn't want that. So, after much deliberation and prayer, I made the decision to withdraw.
For several months I was in the awful zone of the wafflers; college students who are here with no real purpose. I had no idea what to do, and funnily enough I blame this largely on the fact that I already knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be a mom, and write novels.
For some reason, I couldn't justify just going to school for my writing, it seemed like a waste when really what I need is a way to earn a steady income if both my dreams failed. Neither of them really have the best employee benefits.
So, I sold out. I looked for an education that would give me a job I could earn real money at, that would not take ten years to achieve, and would let me come home at the end of the day. I figured it out at the end of February, and come Monday, I'm going to be in paralegal school.
I do not have a great passion for the writing of legal documents, but it will give me what I need and I can be out in 65 weeks. As much as I would love to spend the rest of my life studying Titian and reading Chaucer, I made this decision so I can live the kind of life I want.
The rose tinted glasses high school guidance counsellors put on me are gone. Why do they teach kids to choose a career based on their passions? If that were true we'd all be poets or professional athletes. Why can't they teach kids that it's okay not to be in love with your job, but you can just choose a career that will allow you the lifestyle you want? Work-based lives aren't that happy anyway, and I would much rather be a paralegal who has time to do the things she loves in the evenings and weekends then a journalist who is chained to her desk.
All the same, I can't help but mourn today, as I kiss university good-bye. This morning was the last time I discussed humanism and mannerism in class, an hour ago was the last time I sat in my favourite chair in the library, and at 2 o'clock, I will sit in the last lecture of my absolute favourite professor.
I know I'm making the right decision, but as with all transitions, I'm scared. There is so much I will miss about this school, and so much I will miss of university in general.